Forgive me father, for I am a failure at marriage.

Weds p.m. he met up w/a college buddy who was in town. They hung out 'til about 9. I had to go out and pick him up at the train by 10. No problem, eh? As if this is all my life is about, being his chauffeur and whipping-boy. Being ready for him. It's even this way sexually. It's so counterintuitive to nature.*

I go out last night with some friends for a 2 hour sit and knit. He shows up, immediately wants me to drop what I'm doing. I'm trying to learn how to do this ONE stitch, otherwise it'll be another two weeks before I see my friends who are helping me with a project, as we are going on vacation soon.

He was sitting behind me, texting me on my phone (no, I did not pick up the phone). I had ordered up a panini (no cheese) for him. Only to get home to find out there IS cheese (provolone, no less), and shit, he was carrying on as if I:

1. am too stupid and do not know enough to ask for "no cheese";
2. I ordered it intentionally;
3. am too stupid and foolish with my money as if to waste it on something he cannot eat.

Granted, he's been in a lot of pain--and to be blunt, I live in chronic pain and depression every effing day. The kind of pain that won't go away. The kind of pain that even flares up unexpectedly, and to an extent debilitates me. You'd think that his new-found pains would make him more empathetic towards my chronic pain. But no. It's all about him. His pain. Pain that would probably go away with some surgical intervention.

Between my pain and depression, I do not want to get out of bed in the a.m., if ever, and there he is whining about a sandwich. When I finally hit my saturation point for his ranting, I picked the sandwich container up (w/the perfectly good sandwich, tortilla chips and salsa in it), and threw it at him and yelled that I am not an idiot, and that I'm tired of spending every day of my life with him reminding me of how fat I am and how stupid or incapable he thinks I am (he never comes out directly with those words, but pretty much in his rants will say stupid shit which pretty much dances around that theme).

My night last night ended with me taking my meds, and I decided I needed a second dose of my anti-depressant (the Rx IS written for 2x a day, afterall).

I sat and cried on the toilet. Regained my composure enough to brush my teeth, then strap myself into my CPAP, and I just cannot bring it up, the things I wish would happen to me. I honestly have nothing to live for. This is all so pointless. And no, I'm too much of a coward to act on these thoughts. With my luck if I were to do so, I'd no doubt fail, and in doing so, I'd make my situation worse. I know I've got enough blood pressure pills in the house: a nearly new bottle of blood pressure pills , which I don't take anymore as I'm on another with a separate diuretic; a near-new bottle of another, 20 mg tabs, which I no longer take as I'm on 10 mg tabs now; and of course the 10 mg tab bottle. But with my luck? That wouldn't be enough to do the job; however, it might just be enough to destroy my kidneys, and let's just say, that's not something I want for myself. Death is one thing, but painful kidney failure and dialysis? That is not for the squeamish.

*The sex is mechanical. There's no connection or communication that normally goes on with lovemaking. It's always when HE wants it. Not when I do. My advances get batted away with the same disdain as a fly at a picnic. And really? Sex is becoming a rare commodity. Sex for us is now roughly once a month, after I've showered on a Saturday, I might yell out for him to "strap one on, let's go."

No foreplay.
No kissing.
No nothing.
NO KIDDING.

Really if I think about it too long, my heart will just break even more. And after nearly eight years of marriage, I'm tired of trying to find a "common ground" or trying to fix this. Obviously it does not matter at all to him. Yet, I am still alive and have needs. So the "least sinful" route is "mechanical means" for myself, alone. Because it's frustrating to be frustrated and deal with all of this. I've tried all manner of trying to discuss this. It's taking every bit of restraint in me not to emasculate him. I don't feel desirable. I feel like a life support system for a glory hole. Plain and simple.

I love him, or the person I thought I married. I fear it's not enough. And yet, he sticks it out with me. I don't understand it at all. I don't know if he's really abusive or if he's just ignorant in how marriages work, or how sponge-like women are... being stimulated by what we hear... and well? If all I'm hearing is negative shit, what is the ultimate message right there? That I'm a fat, stupid glutton for punishment?

I'm petrified to do anything about anything. I'm broken down, mentally and physically. I'm imprisoned in a job that I hate and that gives me nothing (except a paycheck--of which is not enough for me to survive on, should I strike out on my own) in return. I feel professionally I've lost my edge. I'm not sticking it out because I am afraid no other man will find me attractive (because I know that's bullshit). I am sticking it out for my own survival. And of course, that one little shred of hope that perhaps one day, he'll revert back to who I thought I married. But first and foremost: survival.

Emotionally, I'm dying. But physically, there must be some primal sense of survival. I feel so parasitic.

And perhaps? Just perhaps? Perhaps I'm the type of gal guys fuck and shouldn't marry. I cannot help but wonder if this is the case for me.

Amazingly, I typed this out at work, and managed not to cry.

I've sat here for a half hour. First I was amazed I remembered my sign-on and password. But really? I'm amazed no one has posted anything since December. Four months? No one needed to vent their spleen?

What's this world coming to?

The Student who is going to EPIC FAIL refuses to drop the course. She thinks she can pass. She can't. She's going to try to cadge me into letting her pass. She's a black woman. I don't want to be the man that be keeping her down.

I may just pass the trash. I hate this.

Yet another follow-up:

Two nights ago, as I stood outside waiting for the husband to pick me up, I heard the door to the lobby open.

As I turned to see who it was, I looked She-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless in the face, or at least was able to make out facially it was her, I didn't intend to look directly at her face. I merely glanced. So you would think she would have glanced to see who was standing in front of the building.

She turned and walked away, seeming to ignore my very presence.

My plan is working.

It sucks when I have to go against my innate character to be kind or generous (usually to a fault, i.e. finding excuses for the shitty behaviors of others), and cut these "good will vampires" off. She was nothing but a blight, a taker, and a fool if she thought I held her in any esteem after the "Assgrab Debacle of 2006," wherein when she was "called out" for saying something to someone out of context and got me in hot water with another co-worker, she back pedaled and said, "Well you shouldn't have told me in the first place!"

What are we in? Pre-school, where no one takes responsibility for their actions? I don't give a shit if she said what I said--but for the love of the eight-pound-baby-Jesus!, make sure it's in context!

Sadly for her, this is all a moot point.

Perhaps vanity is a sin, and if thinking I am a good friend and an entertaining conversationalist is vain, then color me a red, red sinner, baby.

God? Why did you create me to be trusting and such a shitty judge of character?

Well she-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless was up here getting something notarized by me. She just left now. I don't need this stuff, yanno?

She couldn't help but notice I was "off," and I told her, "being the subject of current rumors regarding stuff which occurred four years ago will do that to someone."

Not once did she let on that it was SHE let the cat out of the bag. Seemed real blasse.

I said to her, "No, I won't take it easy. I treat folks here with nothing but kindness and good humor, and even for the a-holes I have to deal with, I am nothing but professional. This is the type of stuff friendships get ruined over..." She could care less.

And I said, "Not only am I concerned because Joan knows... which means everyone knows... I'm humiliated... but I am also concerned about WHO told WHO WHAT... I only spoke to two people about this. " (she-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless was one of the two).

I remain,
Devastated.

It's bad enough when someone has a "slip up" at a low point in their lives;
It's bad enough to be full of remorse every day for years since...since;
It's bad enough to be contrite and go to confession for God's forgiveness;
It's bad enough not to be able to confess the misdeed, out of the assortment of reasons, primarily seeing the error of one's ways and viewing this lapse as a momentary and isolated incident;

It's bad enough when that someone confesses this to someone they thought was a friend...

...Only to be approached ambushed by another, totally unrelated party entirely, being asked, point blank, if the rumor were true... four years after the fact, thus precipitating an unexpected emotional set back, the likes of which has the victim second guessing and doubting their judgment CONCLUSIVELY, ENTIRELY, COMPLETELY.

It's not a stretch of the imagination to piece things together, that this person (She who shall remain pseudonym-less), [who was once thought of as friend, who not only sold "one" out nearly two years ago in what is now referred to as the "Ass Grab Debacle of 2006"], who also attended an "academy" recently with the "totally unrelated party" who was questioning the veracity of the aforementioned rumor, which I hope, I denied believably.

The guilt is oppressive, still; however, I cannot even must enough indignity to fuel the right-and-deserved ass kicking this twat deserves.

If I had the ability, I would quit this job, just to get away from these people, everyone who has ever known me (or the other) in any capacity. For my own sanity's sake.

I'm not a saint; however, I do believe in second chances. Being here is sabotaging my soul and the very essence of who I think I am.

*deep sigh*

I resign myself to the idea that if I want to go out on a "date" with you, I have to do all the legwork.

I did.

Babysitter for Friday night? Check.
Dinner reservations made? Check.
Fundage set aside to pay for all of this? Check.

So when I log on to the bank account this morning to discover that the date money I set aside was gone, I was miffed. (Actually, I was a bit concerned that someone had hacked our account.)

Calling you, only to discover that you withdrew it this morning because you and your friend JG are going out to dinner tonight really pissed me off.

Which is why I felt the need to "make you feel bad" by pointing out that you and JG have managed to go out to dinner together three times since you both graduated from law school, while you and I have managed to go out together ZERO times since waaaaay before you graduated.

That's right. JG has me beat, three dates to zero.

Fucking Hell. Asswipe.